I Am Midnight
by Elfreida
Summary: Bilbo was right. The worst was over and it would be a quiet trip from thereonin...only kidding! Because if Senga thought it mad before, nothing could've prepared her for what was coming. Middle Earth real? Fine. A dragon? No problem. Lascivious elves? No surprise at this point. Her own heart, though...that was a thing in its own league. And with night falling...(Sequel to Senga)
1. Interfering

_**Prologue**_

**Interfering**

It was a testament to the modern age that when a tall old man in a grey robe with a beard that trailed proudly over his chest walked hesitantly into A&E, no one so much as batted an eyelid. Still, he was _trying _to be incognito. The hat, after all, was nowhere to be seen and the staff he made a genuine _point _of using as a walking stick. But, as he had discovered on the bus, humans did have a strange habit of making assumptions whatever.

Some even called him by name.

But he would not be remaining long and those few that looked twice were free to think what they would. They were not the reason he was here. Still, they stared as he walked the halls, searching ward after ward. He was reminded uncomfortably of the reason he wasn't entirely sure of what he was looking for and couldn't help himself but peer back every now and again, half expecting a long fingered hand to land heavily on his shoulder.

The thought almost brought a chuckle. Had he been younger, he might have said the sly thrill by itself was worth it. But no: he was a fully grown wizard and quite capable of a more respectable level of maturity. This was _not_ for the cheap excitement of acting outside council orders.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh I, ah…I'm visiting a friend, I seem to have lost my way." He smiled genially. The man at the desk hummed, not taking his eyes off the staff.

Gandalf huffed. _Young people. _Never happy; always needing to stick their noses into _everything_. He turned down another white corridor dotted here and there with sterile blue. What was he looking for? He'd know it as soon as he saw it – and his nose had never been wrong; it was in the hospital somewhere. The fulcrum to turn the world around. For it obvious what was coming even if what to do about it was less so and the grey wizard had had just about enough of sitting idly by and waiting for 'more information'.

Would it be lore? A long forgotten artefact of Power? Radagast had suggested he'd seen a particularly enthusiastic hedgehog, though that one he had to admit was a little less likely. But, for all he knew, he would encounter a talking squirrel sprouting riddles for passers-by. He just didn't know. He didn't know in what capacity it might change their fate either, which was a slight problem, all things considered. Indeed, his indiscretion might prove their ruin rather than their salvation (something he wanted to avoid if at all possible).

Yet, as afore stated, sitting indolently in a comfortable wicker chair whilst _knowing _what was to come and doing presently _nothing _was not an option.

He poked his head round the corner of another white wall. Would it be medicine? Perhaps he had fallen for that penchant of man and failed to see the wood for the trees.

He sighed heavily. In fact, he was about to turn about and search instead for a cup of tea (terrible as it was rumoured to be in this place) when he saw him. He was so obvious to the wizard and so very out of place, both in expression and setting, yet for a single second he thought he was seeing things. _A dwarf? Here?_

Oh, but this had just become far more complicated.

An artefact or even a singing hedgehog was less of a bother than a living, breathingindividual. A warrior, or healer, or even an ordinary soul – it didn't matter – but _someone_…someone could change the course of the future in such strange ways. They might be the hero that throws down the dark tower or the whisper that sets off the avalanche in the mountains. The right words in the right place at the right time…

But despite all this, they were still _someone_. Not a piece on a chessboard.

'Complicated' was a monumental understatement.

He approached cautiously, trying to get a read of the middle-aged dwarf before engaging him. A forger (the hands gave that away instantly) and also most definitely a pure-blooded khazad judging by the nose, the ears, the height and, most especially, the beard. But he seemed not perturbed by the locale, indicating that he had been here for a long time. Which did fit with Gandalf's somewhat fuzzy knowledge of when the last travels through the Gate were. Still that didn't explain meeting one of Mahal's children here, now, just when the wizard was about to give up looking for the saviour of Middle Earth.

Coincidences like that simply didn't happen.

He made to move forward on the pretext of curiosity, but a deep growl stopped him in his tracks.

"Don' thin' I don' recognise a wizard when I see one."

"Ah. Well then, forgive my intrusion as you must, but this cannot wait."

"No?" The dwarf raised his green eyes in surprise. "No' an hour? Nor a night's sleep?"

His voice was bitter and Gandalf sighed softly, looking for the first time at the slender figure dozing in the hospital sheets. There were cables and tubes connecting her to various machines and apparatus with swathes of bandages running up both wrists. Yet she seemed peaceful for the moment, breathing evenly. She was definitely not pure dwarf, but the more he looked, the more subtle hints stood out. Her height was one; the structure of her collar and shoulders was another (too broad for a human girl). Still, without the beard, he doubted anyone else would've noticed.

The dwarf at the foot of her bed had her hand held in his as though it was a jewel as precious as those beneath the earth.

"You're so obsessed wi' the timin' o' things. You an' your friends. Everythin' has its place an' its job an' the whole world spins accordin' to wha' you've _seen_."

"Fate is simply what it is. For that, I cannot apologise."

"Fate." He spat the word as if it left a bad taste. "So it was her Fate to suffer this?"

His face contorted in a glare to send armies tail about, but so too upon it were tears that shone in the artificial light. They fell freely, and Gandalf felt his heart soften. Oh for the passion of dwarves. Left to the elves, they might all forget that life was not simply the objective whole; the world turning and history passing in pages of reference. No, it was this. Pain and love driving turns of time that are entirely unexpected.

He bowed his head, not knowing what to say.

"If you've come to discuss _Fate _of all things, you can leave no'. I'm no mood to talk abou' your fuckin' problems no', an' if you so much as _suggest _I consider the 'big picture' or the 'save-the-word' bullshi', I will deck you. Wizard or no'."

Gandalf sighed again, raising a placating hand as he sought and found a seat.

"Actually, I came to find you."

"Me." The dwarf nodded, mouth a dangerously thin line beneath his hair. "Righ'. Me. Why? After all this time? Why no'?"

"Because we appear to be fast approaching a turning point. A cross-ways, if you like."

"An' this has to do wi' me an' mine how?"

"Well," the wizard levelled him a pointed look. "You are aware, I presume, of what has happened. And, more to the point –"

"Aye. I've read it. Very long-winded if you ask me."

"Ah, but, what if it was possible to…change that future."

The dwarf considered him with knife-like eyes.

"Why shoul' I care abou' your future, wizard? My home is here. Erebor fell."

"But it is your world!" Gandalf counted, all but affronted at this apathy. "Surely you could not truly abandon it to such a destiny if it was in your power to prevent it?"

"Sauron was defeated in the end, no?"

"_After_ terrible war."

"Again: why shoul' I care abou' _your_ war?"

The wizard closed his eyes, trying to see clearly what it was the dwarf was objecting to. Did he truly have no connection left to Middle Earth? It was possible. More than possible if he was born away from his ancestral stone. Gandalf cursed internally at his lack of anticipation – he ought to have come across this! He ought to know and to have been prepared. Perhaps it was grave error he had made coming on his own recognisance; truly, this time. He could not sit by, but if he had just at this moment prevented the return –

_Why does one go away if not to return home? A long journey made to come back to where one started…Durin's skies…something about a frog?_

But that was an old legend. An _ancient_ one. Made by a seer in days long past and steeped in a longstanding and ever-evolving tradition. It couldn't be right.

But…oh yes it could.

His eyes turned again to the girl, this time with unrestrained wonder. _Oh_. _Oh but what else was powerful enough to shatter the very course of history? _Still, he could not be absolutely sure. And besides, such a thing was so very erratic, it was near impossible to predict, much less protect. She would need watching, that was for sure. The dwarf raised an eyebrow at his sudden change in countenance, and he quite had to restrain himself, meeting the look clearly.

"Are you aware of the tale of Durin's Day?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes derisively.

"Which one? Oh no' –" comprehension dawned. "– no' the one wi' the lassie bein' the moon shinin' together wi' Durin as the sun? _Tha'_ ridiculous tale? Oh you've go' to be _joking_. The poets were worse than this Shakespeare all the humans go on abou' an' I'm no' abou' to belive a load of crap like tha'. You go' anythin' else? Wizard?"

Gandalf patiently waited for him to finish. And then more, looking him keenly in the heart where he spotted easily the attempt to shield his fear.

"You really do not believe? When you yourself possess the moon?"

Because, yes, it had to be. There were no other dwarves, and, oh yes, Gandalf knew of the blessing of their line. It had been quite a thing at the time. A very great honour indeed, though Thror likely only considered the anecdote allegory at the time. Not the quite serious foretelling it was.

The dwarf broke, almost laughing through fresh tears. He drew a perfectly ordinary looking sliver of white gemstone out of a hidden pocket near his collar.

"I've carried this two hundred years. An' in all tha' time it's never given me cause to believe a damn thing. It's ever been as dull as you see it no'."

"It was not meant to be separated from its counterpart." He smiled softly. The dwarf hunched as if trying to protect it, anguish flowing from him in great rivers. After a long time he looked back at the girl, free hand coming to rest on her leg as if she were made of glass.

"It was a gift." He muttered thickly. "Tha' we would always be sons and daughters o' the stone, tha' was the _promise_. Tha' those born here would be protected by the stone we made ours.

"An' we failed." He let the last of his pride recede as he crumpled completely. "We failed."

"Not failed," Gandalf tried, raising a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Leastways, not yet. There is still much she might become –"

"You'll no' take her!"

Several of the ward's other occupants whipped about in alarm at the shout, staring between the two as the wizard made a cautious retreat.

"That was not my intent –"

"No? Good! Because when they're finished here, I'm takin' her _home._" He said it with such a finality, it stilled the thought that they might yet be persuaded to make the crossing now. The dwarf looked him in the eye and clutched her hand.

"If we can no' be her family no', we nay deserve to have her. An' we'll make this righ'! I'll figh' every las' one o' you, istari or no', who thinks we won'!"

"I did not mean to imply such a thing." The istari in question was quiet. "And in any case, I would not say there must be things decided yet. You have…autonomy here, I am not denying that. And she is still too young, quite obviously."

"Aye."

There were more tears, but he stood firmly as only a dwarf could.

"Just…keep it in mind." He stood, a little awkwardly in the cramped space, and prepared to take his leave. Good gracious...Saruman was going to have a field day after this. The dwarf nodded in acknowledgement, clearly having little thought to spare for it at present, and Gandalf accepted the gesture. With any luck, they might just be able to pull it off. Or, rather, she would.

Yet…it was so uncertain. So it was with these things, but was it rightly possible?

They could only hope.

He stood in silence for a long time, listening to the sounds of the hospital echoing beyond the ward door. They muffled through the many people and…things. He didn't often come here, but when he did he always felt disturbed by the cold machines that were the humans' magic.

Not enough character; too few surprises.

The humans made their own, of course, but the cogs and wires and invisible sparks were utterly detached in themselves. Predictable to a T – until they weren't (which was where the whole system broke down of course).

"What is her name?" He murmured suddenly, turning back with an odd feeling. "If I might ask?"

The dwarf drew up slightly.

"Her name's Senga."

* * *

_**A.N: I'm back everybody! I honestly couldn't resist writing this little bit just because Pete got to do it with the film and because I wanted to try and sort through things a bit. That and writing for Gandalf is unequivokably awesome :) Still, I did re-wite this from the original. What I had in mind was a lot more angsty and a lot less clear - instead what I've done is explore Gandalf's character and set this up in a way that's slightly less bog-standard and more open to be played around with. Hopefully I've wrangled it in a satisfactory manner.**_

_**The title just fits perfectly and naturally comes from Mithrandir's own little penchent for it :P**_

_**Just a note: Gandalf's thought 'young people' actually comes from Ian McKellen's line in the first X-men film when Rogue and Logan are on the train. A quirk to the fact that I can actually hear him saying the line. Aaaand inspiration for this stems as much from listening to the Wee Free Men being read by Tony Robinson as The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio series.**_

_**The cover picture is, again, one of my own and actually a result of my mostly failed attempts to photograph the moon with a camera that is simply not suited for low light photography. Nevertheless, through persistance, i got an approximation of what I wanted. The trees at the bottom are New Zealand tree ferns and the streaks of light are not a result of me touching it up: that is genuinely what the light exposure did to the image :P**_

_**Will be hopefully prompt with the first chaper for which there is already some written. So, my lovelies, once more into the breech! Onwards!**_


	2. Ashes and Dust

_**Chapter One**_

**Ashes and Dust**

"Quickly! Into the eyrie!"

"The wha'?"

"I will speak to Gwaihir."

"Lads! Get her over here – that's it, easy! Mind her head!"

"Is it the poison? Oin?" Thorin looked into her face, trying to fight the surge of outright panic as the beautiful features turned grey. _Not now, please Mahal, no –_

The old dwarf shook his head grimly.

"No. It's long ou' o' her stomach, laddie."

"Then what –"

"Her hand!" Kili scrambled for the blood-soaked cuff. "There was a nick on 'er shoulder from the goblins."

They lost no time in pulling off the coat, but even in her unconsciousness she moaned, curling fitfully from the touch, face drawn with pain. Her brow glittered. Thorin realised Gandalf had quickly lit the lamps set into the roughly carved stone walls. The light danced. Where Kili showed them, her right arm was entirely crusted and sticking like fly paper. Her shirt was all but black. The tear, high on her forearm, shone – and it suddenly struck him that the wound was still weeping wetly, bursting through her body's attempt to stem it. He swore sharply.

"Righ'. Everyone ou'."

Oin shooed bluntly. Thorin looked round to find the entire Company hovering anxiously behind him. At Oin's words, each and every one of them protested, Fili and Dwalin in particular looking as if they'd rather go another round with the orcs.

But, the old healer wasn't going to stand for it.

It was too serious for that.

With a grunt and a glare, he stood and faced them.

"I will need to remove her armour and clothing. Ou'!"

They obeyed. Ori blushed pink, and Gloin muttered distractedly, but each filled hurriedly out, leaving only him and Kili refusing to budge. Oin sighed.

"Lads –"

"What can I do?" The archer met Oin head-on with a look equally fierce. Not for the first time, Thorin felt a swell of pride for the loyalty and the love that had brought out the best in his nephew. He crouched low over their Senga, teeth gritted, and Oin nodded tersely.

"Water. As much as you can ge' me. An' ask tha' blasted wizard where I can fin' some herbs – damn goblins pinched all mine."

Kili slipped lithely from the cavern before he'd finished the sentence. Now with just the two of them (well, three, he supposed, but with only two conscious it didn't really count) Thorin sank to his knees. His own injuries, eased greatly by their mad wizard, strained despite all, and he had to supress a hiss as he reached to brush a lock of damp hair behind Senga's ear. His hand came to cradle hers, mouth suddenly dry.

"Laddie."

He looked up. The pull to stop for a moment, _to rest_, was all but overwhelming, but not nearly powerful enough to take him away from this. Nor was it loud enough to quiet the silent question he levelled at his healer. Oin sighed exasperatedly.

"I will do whatever I can for her. An' don' you go givin' up on her no'!" He bent over the shoulder with a hard look that tugged down the corners of his mouth unhappily. "If she's strong enough to leap in fron' o' Azog for you, she's strong enough to keep alive through this, no' go an' ge' yoursel' some rest. I'll no' have her wake up an' have to tell her you bough' it worryin'! Ge'! Go!"

And Oin wouldn't take no for an answer as he chivvied his king out of the cave.

Outside, he felt a hand land carefully on his shoulder.

"Thorin?"

Of their own accord, his hands made an odd, hopeless gesture at the cavern's mouth as he turned to Gandalf.

"Save her." He was impressed at how calm he sounded, given the circumstances. Whether it was because of the abrupt crash of exhaustion or the final shock of the last days' events, he didn't know, but truly he felt suddenly quite level-headed. Because they _had _to save her. It wasn't a question. There wasn't any other possibility henceforth; no other course for history to take.

She _had _to live.

He saw Gandalf's hesitation, the soft uncertainty, but to his unutterable relief, the wizard simply nodded and stepped through.

"Dwalin!" The call broke over them from somewhere above as Kili bounded down a set of winding steps, face ashen but determined. "Fi – there's a spring up there with buckets and everything!"

"Well wha' are we waitin' for!" Gloin strode up in the direction he was indicating and Thorin (muggy-headed, but _sod it_) followed, shoring up his stride in spite of the continued pain. That is, right up until Balin stopped him at the bottom of the path.

"Nay, you'll do yourself a punctured lung!"

"I will _not _just stand idly –"

"You're no good to her dead! No' you migh' be my king, laddie, bu' I'm no' lettin' you this."

"_Balin…_" He tried to give a warning look, but the effect was lost somewhat in the wince that broke free from his chest. Then again, that look had never had much effect on his old guardian. The entire situation reminded him of an incident when he was a child, held back from jumping with the rest of the boys from the high bridge into Gima's Spring. He was too young, Balin had said, too small. Later he'd snuck off and done it anyway, earning him a pair of twisted ankles and a blown knee, but that wasn't the point.

He didn't realise he was almost swaying until a hand came to steady him.

"You're no good if you can barely stay on your feet."

"Aye, we'll take care of your lass, worry not." Bofur nodded firmly as he passed with a full bucket.

"You've more than earnt yourself a sit down." Dori added fervently, clutching his own pail.

"Is there none that will vouch for me?"

"Nope." Fili was taking the steps as swiftly as he dared, the water sloshing out despite his best efforts. "You got half ripped apart, Thorin."

He tried to say it casually, but the words shook. He didn't look up properly as he passed. Thorin reached out in an instant and caught his arm, holding for a moment before reluctantly conceding. He slumped against the rock, scowling.

"That's it, sir!" Nori grinned. Thorin deadpanned. But his attention was snared by Bilbo hurrying back with a bunch of straggly-looking plants, trying desperately not to look over the edge as he went. This sent a crack through his fragile calm and he turned, weariness lifting in the wake of sharpening fear, following Nori inside.

At first it seemed they were a crowd, but, pushing his way to the front, Thorin realised they were all pressing tightly to the walls in an attempt to give Oin and Gandalf room. Kili was there too, by her side, and a pang of irrational irritation had to be stomped on before it got the better of him. Instead, he looked to the wizard. He was muttering noiselessly, eyes tightly shut, and there was a forbidding line his mouth that Thorin didn't like at all. After an age, he passed a worn hand over his eyes, sighing.

"Bilbo, do you know of _athelas?_"

"_Athelas?_"

"Kingsfoil, I believe the Shirefolk call it."

"Ah!" The hobbit nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I know of it. Hamfast has a devil of a time keeping it out of the garden."

"As much of it as you can find, Bilbo Baggins. Quickly now!"

"Will she recover?" He couldn't stop himself asking. Again, Gandalf hesitated.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "There is a black ichor attempting even now to overcome her. Some machination of the orcs – I don't know, Thorin. If she were any other…"

He trailed off.

_Any other. _Their fifteenth. Their Senga. He might have chosen differently; he could've told Gandalf and his meddling where to shove it, but no, that wasn't what happened, was it? They'd been landed a bull-headed child, untrained, ignorant and unrelenting. The same child who'd fought like a lion to bloody Dwalin and prove a point. The same child who crossed the earth with them without a complaint or falter.

The same child who was not a child at all.

She'd saved his life, twice over. He thought back to the harsh young thing they'd taken on and wondered when all had changed. It was before the moment on the cliffs. Perhaps even before Rivendell. No, the more he thought about it, the more he realised it had been there from the beginning and he'd just failed to look.

Of course, she'd been beautiful since the start. Even now as she lay dying. That'd been inescapable from the start, despite his every effort to boot her out of his head: from the moment he felt himself bowled off his feet he'd been doomed, those liquid-green eyes haunting him forever (and the rest). _Mahal, _but the sight before he'd lost consciousness – of her stood wreathed in the blaze as though it were part of her not the background. Her eyes had flashed orange and emerald. As she stepped past the hobbit – himself locked in combat with such a ferocity as he never would've suspected of Bilbo – she'd locked gazes with his enemy, undimmed and unafraid. She was a wonder, even as the horror of what he was seeing took him.

To both of them he owed a most profound debt.

And to himself…tell her? The words were ready to burst out of his chest, yet they were bitter to the air. They were fundamentally selfish. What would she want with an old, scarred, half-mad dwarf like him? Not to mention that she was under his protection; his command (_not that she would ever follow his orders_, he thought with a small smile). With that and what he knew, _those words_ would be the height of taking advantage. She'd probably only slap him anyway. Unconsciously, his hand strayed to his still tender nose.

His mouth stretched a hollow smile.

_She's not lost yet. _He said as much out loud before stretching out beneath the opening stars. He watched, but didn't truly see, the eagles coming into roost, swooping to the far side of the rock.

He didn't sleep.

Dwalin eventually came to join him, muttering about Oin still urgently trying to bring the fever down with the scant medicines Bilbo had found growing in the cracks.

"She'll pull through." His battlemate grunted in the dark. Thorin stared at the heavens, the quiet shifting around them both. There didn't need to be words, not between them, but it was rare times that so much occupied the silence. In the end, he rolled to his side and faced Dwalin directly through the gloom.

"Who is she?"

Dwalin blinked.

"You really wan' to kno'?"

Thorin just stared, the air frozen between them.

"You love her?"

No answer. He had none that would come. It gummed up his throat and stuck to his tongue.

At his silence, the old warrior shifted away.

"You don' need me tellin' you who she is."

There was only silence from Dwalin after that. Thorin opened his eyes back to the sky. The first time he saw stars, he recalled, they weren't real stars at all. But they were just as beautiful. Pinpricks of greenish light stuck to the roof of the cavern; constellations that flickered and changed if you stared for long enough, reflected in the pools and streams they inevitably grey above. By the time he saw the genuine article, he was almost disappointed. He was sure there was some appeal…to surface folk…of lights so bright yet so intangible they seemed merely tricks of the set sun.

He thought of everything that had transpired since his decision to stop denying the truth to himself.

He thought of all the pain she had already suffered.

A prayer then – if he was to be allowed this – to every deity he knew to name (even the ones that'd already decided he was damned). A prayer to reclaim Erebor and to show her his stars. His gold. That there were gems in Erebor that almost matched the beauty in her eyes. A life that might be filled with light and splendour in a world that would never crack, no matter how the ages howled down and lit upon the greed of old dwarrow.

Just that she _lived._

_Was that so enormous a thing to beg?_

* * *

Dawn's fire appeared. It spread languidly, lapping the sky with dull pink and sharp metal. Sluggishly, he tried to place what he was supposed to be doing. _So he had slept then…_the knowledge brought the new day crashing in, deftly striking an icicle between his ribs. _Fuck. _He jerked to his feet. _Bollocks._

Several smells assaulted him here, not least of which was roasting meat, followed by smoke and steam. Resolving their origin was far from his priorities, however.

He barely acknowledged their existence.

For once, thoughts of Erebor and Smaug and _home _were banished in the face of a dread so fierce it was as if the world was falling away from his feet. Like he was striding on the spot; unable to move forward even as he willed his whole being. He'd felt it seeing Frerin's body. He'd felt it at his grandfather's murder.

_Oh Mahal, fuck, please_ –

No.

No, they were still there.

And she was still breathing.

The relief almost brought him to his knees.

"Thought you'd be out longer. Fili's right: you did get nearly ripped to pieces." Kili gave him a weak smile.

"How is she?"

"Still struggling. But Oin says there's hope. Gandalf too."

The snores of the former lifted out of the back of the cavern. Thorin nodded stiffly. There wasn't much more to be done. The best they could manage was to wait and hope and trust to their wizard and medic.

After a while, he realised Kili was staring at him. He looked up when his nephew gave a bemused chuckle, glancing between him and the sleeping warrioress.

"Aulё save us, you do, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"And I just thought Fili was having a laugh…"

"Do _what?_"

He was met with a sparking reflection of mischief. Had it not been current circumstances, he would've seriously considered knocking him upside the head, cheeky bugger. Instead they were interrupted by a soft groan.

"'ey,"

Kili dropped to cradle her head in a split second. Thorin watched as he slid a hand into her hair, murmuring softly. But she didn't wake. Senga stirred a little at the touch, but did not wake. Unable to bear much more, he reached for her hand ad settled on her other side, gripping tightly as she grew still. It was…such an _unnatural _state. For her to be so bereft of life. There should've been a greater mark of struggle; some token of the fight she was undoubtedly meeting ferociously.

Instead, it was invisible. An invisible killer.

He felt as if the world had been thrown off. Anger warred with cold fear, but instead of ceding, he gritted his teeth and nodded towards the cave's entrance.

"You should get some breakfast."

"Already 'ad some. The eagles brought it about an hour ago and Gloin scrounged up a fire. You should take your own advice, Uncle. You still look half-dead."

"Watch who you're calling 'half-dead'." He growled. But thereafter he became unavoidably aware of the yawning pit in his stomach. The stone in him baulked at leaving. The subject of his heart was of far greater import than _food. _Yet no dwarf would be a greater fool than he who refused it when it was on offer.

"Fine." His punctures twinged. Kili looked relieved, though, returning to his vigil, and that was good enough for the moment. He dropped next to Bifur and took a haunch of whatever venison had been unlucky enough to be about the valley at this hour. The old warrior gave him a sympathetic look as he bit down. It tasted little better than ash.

"Will she be alright?" Ori's voice carried where he sat between his brothers. Thorin stared hard at the charred meat.

"She'll take days to heal properly." Dwalin said quietly, suddenly coming up on his other side, and he sighed painfully. _Yes. _That which he had been doing his utmost not to consider; thoughts that had no place in his head now, but which were nonetheless necessary. He had been king too long not to recognise that.

"Days we don't have." He said finally. He tore another strip. Bofur shot up.

"You're not seriously thinking of leaving her?"

"No, _of course not_." His teeth clacked on bone. "But it does remain."

"She'll pull through in time, laddie. Don' you worry."

Balin tossed his bone on the pile just beyond him.

"We still have time."

Thorin could only stare at the stone, willing his heart to slow. He was on the brink of losing two such large pieces of it, the resulting injury should Balin be wrong would almost doubtless kill him. _He couldn't be wrong._

Yet there was _nothing he could do._

His bone crashed into the rest.

The combination was dire.

* * *

"You've been examining that there wall for going on three hours now."

"I knew not that you were watching me so closely, Bofur."

"No need to get snippy, I was just saying." The toymaker turned away reproachfully. "You've also been holding her hand for the better part of two."

"Her dressings need to be changed." Bilbo announced suddenly, appearing with his sleeves at his elbows. Given his newfound respect for the slight-looking hobbit, he moved aside with a quiet nod (though not far enough to have to let go). Bilbo himself was surprisingly strong-stomached when it came to gently revealing the festering wound, looking at it critically. He eased it clean with a cloth that Thorin recognised as having been donated by Ori (the pattern of bees from his undershirt was not entirely obfuscated) and applied a fresh poultice. The fiery flesh he then bound in bandages that had been boiled in the pot. It was the little they could do, and it would help.

Marginally, anyway. It counted.

He found himself muttering a 'thank you' as he stared into her pale face. The hobbit looked startled.

"You're…welcome?" He looked up awkwardly – then hesitated, wringing his hands seemingly in a search for the right words.

"She was amazing." He said finally. Thorin was caught off guard. "I've – I've never seen anything quite like it."

He couldn't argue there. There were other words he would use besides. Still –

"You were not unsurprising yourself."

Bilbo blushed.

"Oh, err, than you, Thorin. That's, um…that's most kind of you."

Finally the hobbit smiled, confident and pleased as he readjusted the blanket (that was, incidentally, Gandalf's and as such the only one they had). As he watched, he considered their burglar. It was a strange thing that a person so _domestic_ with such an insular background would not have backed out at the first opportunity, like he had predicted. He sighed. Yes, he was domestic, yes he was small, and yes he worried about having meals at inappropriate times of day. He was also unfailingly loyal, level-headed where they were not (even if that also worked the other way around) and had a subtle strength about him that, like with Senga, he now realised, had been there all the time.

An hour later saw a visit from Dori, with Bombur peeking in as they tried dribbling small amounts of water into her slack mouth. They weren't very successful, but, as Oin pointed out, bar drowning her, it could hardly do her harm. Ori came in and sat down in a corner with his notebook, though it was obvious he didn't get very far, the lines at his brow more like ropes. Fili and Kili were in and out every few minutes and, at midday, Gandalf returned in a sweeping of grey robes.

Apparently he'd been placating the eagles as to their unexpectedly extended stay, as well as scouting for news. Azog and his lackeys were not gone, it seemed, though their position in the eagle's roost afforded protection as nothing else could have.

An explanation as to why there was a woodstock, a midden, a conveniently empty anti-chamber and buckets for the spring lay with the Brown Wizard's apparent rapport with the local residents.

"I believe he, on occasion, enjoys the company." Gandalf said offhandedly, returning his attention to Senga. She was growing weaker. None of them voiced it, but it was horrifyingly obvious. _Magic would be enough, surely?_

The wizard eased past him, inspecting the cut with his brow drawn tight. After a moment, he pressed down his fingertips and the air in the cavern seemed to dim in favour of an intangible light about the both of them. It lingered for a time before fading, leaving them behind in a weary gloom.

"She is strong." He muttered, more to himself than to them. "And she has suffered worse."

"Indeed."

"You mustn't fret."

"Mmm."

"You must also _rest._"

"Gandalf…"

It was late into the evening before she stirred again. He and the boys were watching over her when she came close to waking, moaning deliriously and with a sheen of sweat to make a horse proud. Thorin could only watch, all but helpless at his nephew's elbows, as Fili applied the wet cloth.

"Oin said this is good." Kili winced at the stain still rising through the bandages. "Says it means her body's still putting up a hell of a fight."

He nodded, eyes dropping to her shoulder. It was a mess of blood, ragged cloth and –

"What's that?"

_Oh sweet fu –_

It was a black mark. Almost indistinguishable in the low light. It trailed from the wound, up and across like a shadowy river. A evil tattoo.

Without thinking, he ripped back the blanket to see how far it went over her chest – only to be stopped by a completely scandalised Fili.

"Uncle!"

"You can't –" Kili was horrified. Thorin growled frustratedly.

"_Mahal, _I have already…"

He gesticulated abortively as the colour rose rapidly, his face on fire. His nephews' expressions started mortified.

Then went blank.

Then morphed into astonished.

"_When?_"

"Ki –"

"She would've told us!"

"She…wasn't _exactly_…aware…" He desperately tried to think of a way to say it that didn't have him sound like a peeping tom (which he was, let's be honest, but it was an _accident, Mahal fuck it!_) "I walked in on her in the bath. In Rivendell. I – I didn't _mean_ to."

They stared at him a moment. Then Fili whacked him on the arm.

"Thorin!"

"Mmff…"

He turned, too slow with confusion and dread to avoid the fist thrown straight up to his jaw. He was still half-dull with shock as a shaggy mass of half-dried, half sweat-slicked hair loomed over him, shaking with incandescent rage. It lasted only about a second, though, before she collapsed in a heap on top of him, shivering from head to foot. Fili and Kili scrambled to re-bundle her in the blanket, shooting dark looks at him.

"You'll get no sympathy from us." Kili snapped reproachfully.

"When were you planning to tell her?' Fili asked accusingly.

"A more appropriate moment."

He winced as he flexed the impact site (surprisingly well delivered for one supposedly dying of fever). A new bruise for his collection. Kili actually blurted out a laugh.

"When? On her deathbed?"

Suddenly there was no air. His nephew snapped his mouth shut, face drained of colour.

"I didn't –" His fingers threaded her tangled hair. "I –"

"Not now." Thorin rumbled firmly, jolting back to reality. "We have _not _lost her yet. But for the love of Mahal, will one of you _go and get Oin._"

"Aye."

Fili bolted from the cavern. Kili's eyes were still glassy, fixed seeing and unseeing on her mouth. She was mumbling nonsense into the gathering night.

"She…" his breath caught hard. In the lamplight, his eyes glittered. There were few times Thorin had seen him so very lost. But for the hollowness in his own heart, he would've bolstered him with words and distractions, but they had not the luxury of that now. He eased down next to the archer and helped adjust their charge, ending up with her legs across his lap. As he realised this, heat bloomed in his face again, and Kili gave a watery snort.

"I doubt she'd mind."

"_Really?_" Thorin levelled him a wry look that showcased his latest mark. But to his surprise, Kili shook his head, an odd knowing look there making him look older than he was.

"Half the time she can't keep her eyes off you. Doubt she realises it, but…" stray droplets of water were falling into her hair.

"Kili." He said softly. Suddenly, there was an urgent rustle and the arrival of both Oin and Gandalf had them sitting up. Both grew white at the mark.

Oin swore.

"I would take her to the elves, but that is not possible." The wizard frowned deeply, jaw rigid. "There is another option, though I know not whether it will be effective."

The King Under the Mountain felt as if his heart was caught in a vice.

"Try to imbue the wound with all the _athelas_ we have left. I will return by sunrise."

"Does she have that long?"

All turned to Kili.

His eyes were still rivers, however hard he tried to conceal the hitch and break of his breath. Thorin's own jaw clenched as he looked to Gandalf, hard and unyielding.

"We'll keep her."

Gandalf nodded, pulling his scarf close as he left in haste.

"Oh, I hope he can cure her. Ori's going frantic." Muttered Dori, bearing as he was a pail of fresh tea made from a patch of wild mint he'd found near the spring. Kili didn't look up, but accepted the tea when Thorin pressed it into his free hand.

"Drink."

* * *

It was the longest night of his life. He tried to convince himself otherwise, but it was worse – far worse – than the previous, and even the nights on the battlefield when the world threatened to crash down on them at any moment.

Even when grief had threatened to take him, as it had his father; Thorin _watching_ as it took Thrain. Was it hope that made it worse this time? Hope against a foe that could not be seen nor shielded from…

They all joined him in the end. Not all at once, and Balin was the last, but eventually they were all crammed into the small space. Bofur was whittling something near the back of the group and Dwalin kept cleaning his axes; checking their edges with _shnicks _of the whetstone he'd retained in his boot. Balin sat quietly next to Fili, Ori and Nori on his other side. Gloin and Bombur were talking quietly between themselves and he spotted Bifur under one of the lamps. He appeared to be repairing something with string salvaged from his cuff.

After a time, Thorin realised it was Ori's notebook.

Bilbo was sat just outside with a bunch of plants, water and a stone, determinably mashing and mixing more of the poultice. It wasn't a skill he would've expected of the hobbit, but he was definitely good at it, grimly ploughing on with the task. Oin himself was with Kili, his nephew having succumb to fatigue and now alternated between watching emotionlessly and falling asleep an Oin's shoulder. The resultant annoyed huff from their healer would've been funny, but not with the dead look in Kili's eye. Oin let him slumber without protest in the end, and Thorin sighed, envious of the brief peace he now had.

There was shifting in his arms. The room stilled. Senga turned into his chest, a susurrus that held words shorn of meaning flying from her open lips.

Thorin brushed a lock of hair from her face, and tried to think of only that. Only that.

Dawn came, in the end.

The silence was broken by a bird in the blue-grey sunrise, fluttering as it breached the cave in search of a morsel to break its fast. Thorin's hands and arms felt as if he'd subjected them to an entire day at the forge; when the bird came, his neck cracked in his efforts to look round.

It was a swallow, blue and red flashing.

He returned to his vigil. The world otherwise had little meaning. _His_ world was still motionless. It seemed only moments later, however, that figure shadowed the soft autumn rays falling on Senga's hair.

Or, rather, two figures.

Even before he'd looked up, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled to attention, sending ice down his spine. The first-shadow was of course Gandalf, but the second resolved into a girl. Relatively short, but human; in a hood that revealed nothing. Something about her seemed to make the air around his ears full of static charge, sparking off worryingly. And one glance to his companions confirmed he wasn't the only one. She hovered in the gap, the wizard behind her, eyes to Bifur (who was effectively on guard).

His spear wasn't raised. It certainly wasn't lowered either. Yet, at Gandalf's huff of frustration, he retreated without resistance; it was too desperate for that kind of stubbornness or suspicion. That said…his eyes snapped to Gandalf, but all he got was a pointed look in return.

_Who was she?_

"Thorin, this is –"

"_¿__Es que ella?_"

His eyes widened. Gandalf looked briefly between them and nodded wearily. The girl seemed to take that as permission and strode boldly forwards. With a glare to crack cliffsides, he pulled Senga closer to him and noted with satisfaction the blades drawn in an instant across the newcomer's path. Desperate they were, but did Gandalf really think they'd give over all sense? Allow a Witch of the Wilds close to one of their own without a _very _good explanation?

"Who are you?" He demanded, glare not leaving her shadowed face. The witch hissed, stepping back from the swords, but not by much. There followed another burst of that strange language – a tongue he'd not heard _once _in all his years on Arda – and she whipped back to Gandalf. She even had the audacity to stand with her hands on her hips as though he were being _unreasonably_ difficult. Yet behind that, it was obvious she was scared. Scared enough, in fact, that there was a minute shaking in her limbs, just visible in the rising morning. _Good. Let her fear them._

Yet she wasn't fleeing. She hadn't drawn a weapon. She was still looking pointedly between Gandalf and Senga.

At last, the former strode again to her shoulder, giving him his most earnest 'Trust Me' look to date.

"Who. Is. She?"

"Someone who is willing to _help_. A most brilliant stroke of fortune, for there is no more skilled a healer for a hundred miles or more. By lucky chance, I found her a short ways from here – contrary to my original choice – which is no _small _miracle, so for goodness sakes, Thorin, _let her work!_"

One glance between the girl stood tautly above him and the one deathly in his arms, and something in him shattered. The resolve crumpled. _Reason; hope. Damn them. _He shifted, letting his hold relax. The swords were sheathed at a look, and the witch (now looking _extremely _cautious) made a hesitant second approach.

It was only now, close to, that Thorin noticed the scars.

Now, scars in general had a habit of telling the story of the wound that bore them. The heavier the blow, the more jagged it healed, and so on. Of course it depended also on _where_, but these were…long. Vicious. Three strokes across her face that were neither accident, nor made in the heat of battle. Powerful. Elegant. They spliced her eyebrows with her lips.

For a split second, he was reminded jarringly of Azog and wondered whether they'd been scored by her own hand.

This…this _witch _crouched low over their Senga, lifting the edge of the blanket to see the cursed mark. Her eyes, opalescent in the shadows falling across her face, flicked first to him, then back to Gandalf.

"Can you help?"

His voice was barely a growl. The girl snapped back to him, same eyes streaked suddenly with an odd, gold flicker. She paused.

"Si. I will try."

Her eyes slid shut. A hand hovered over the growing black pattern, mostly concealed beneath the blanket. Then it plunged unexpectedly into a pouch at her hip and scattered a strange assortment of objects at their feet: bird bones, a stone with a hole in it, several feathers, a trio of bright red dice, four sticks with silver bark and a swatch of sheep's wool tied about another stone, this one shiny and metallic grey (_haematite, most definitely_). There was also a small pendant. This he could tell simply by the smell was merely copper that had somehow been made to resemble silver – perhaps dipped in it? – and shaped into some sort of fish. Though it wasn't quite right for a fish. The tail was all wrong, as if in life it was made to move up and down (something no fish did that he knew of). Perhaps it represented some creature of the sea?

He snapped back to the present as the girl gave a muted mewl that might have been frustration. She'd become paler. The darkly tanned skin went oddly grey. At last, she turned again to Senga and hovered a hand once more.

The frown scrunching her scarred face was hardly encouraging. Her left hand clenched at her side.

"Well?" Gandalf's voice was far more anxious than his bearing let on. She hissed.

"¡No hago a la gente!"

"Just do your best."

Thorin watched in fascination as the witch visibly forced herself to relax, raising gentle fingertips to Senga's clammy cheek.

"You can do this. Have faith, Kris."

Suddenly the fingers dropped onto where Senga's locket had slewed to one side of her neck. She froze, eyes wide that turned to Gandalf, then back, then to something over Dwalin's shoulder that apparently held her attention absolutely (that none of them could see). Her lips parted, eyes still saucers. Then she nodded sharply. She snapped back to her task, set her jaw, then threw back her head, wisps of pitch black hair flying free over her nose. She muttered for long minutes after that; a stream of words under her breath that halted suddenly as the air _shifted._

She seemed to flinch away from a shadow that rose from the wound, just beyond real sight, before slumping, strings cut, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Is tha' it?"

Gloin's voice broke the shocked silence.

"I believe so." Their wizard let out a long sigh. "Ori, ah, bring our guest some water will you, there's a good lad."

Ori nodded mutely, nearly tripping in his haste.

"Wha' did she do?" Dwalin was now glaring at the girl with as much intensity as he himself had earlier. The girl flinched, but shook her head, gratefully accepting the proffered pail. That was when Thorin looked down to find the evil vividness of the mark all but gone, leaving only brutal, but quite natural looking bruises in its wake. He looked up in surprise.

"You removed it?"

"Si, senor." She nodded. A moment longer, and she rocked gingerly to her feet, picking up the bits and pieces from the rock floor.

"Gracias; _thank you _friend."

"Da nada."

She smiled – the first smile they'd seen from her – and left. Fili stayed staring after her, blinking. Dwalin still scowled.

"Can we trus' –"

Suddenly the air filled with a fit of coughing and the weight in Thorin's lap wriggled. The entire Company jumped, Kili and Fili practically scrambling to attention. Ori gasped. Green eyes fluttered open and rolled around.

"_Wha'…_"

"Don't try to speak." Thorin bit down a wave of relief like the break sunlight through an ice storm and sighed all his sighs in one great _whoosh _of breath. His voice was soft then, his hand mostly steady as he threaded fingers gently through her hair.

"_Sleep_."

_(So she did)._

* * *

**_A.N: Right - first off, I'm sorry about the long wait. Just...between uni and being (suddenly, actually) sociable with people / doing Infinity Wars TCG with a mate (which I count as being sociable!) , I haven't found the time to write this up. Furthermore, the updates are going to get rather slow, i'm afraid. I won't abandon this, though, of that I will promise :)_**

**_Okay: the title comes from a line out of Gladiator ("We are but ashes and dust, my friend") and is appropriate anyway. The not-stars Thorin talks about are Glow worms - which I have had the privilage of seeing at Waitomo and which are completely beautiful. They are actually the larvae of fungus gnats and there are a few species in NZ and Australia. They hang from an overhang above water and hunt mosquitoes and moths and other insects by dropping silk threads covered in glue :D The 'fish' was, of course, a dolphin. 'Witch of the Wilds' is nicked unashamedly from Dragon Age. Kris was speaking Spanish (hopefully it's like the Chinese in Firefly; nice buzz if you know it, but it's not actually necessary to get the gist of the conversation) and that should point a massive clue at her story in all this ;_**

**_Part of what I hoped to do with this chapter was reestablish the relationships within the Company and redefine some in particular (in the process giving each some screentime). With Thorin lending the perspective, I also wanted to sort out his feelings and how this is going to affect his approach to Senga (did you think I was going to make it easy? ;)_**

**_Lastly, the OC - Kris - doesn't belong to me, but to Abyss Prime who ever so flatteringly asked me if I could write for her. With the notes I have of her, i just saw this happening and I really hope that i can make her seem as 'native' as possible (like Tauriel). I also hope that I've done her the least bit of justice in this little introduction (fingers crossed :). Suffice to say, I will be continuing her imput - not necessarily directly part of the Quest, but certainly part of the developing background events and the unfolding bits surrounding Senga._**

**_Hope that's alright?_**

**_You are all lovely and I'm screaming internally at the inevetable delays coming up for the forseeable future (reviews? :P_**


	3. The Undiscovered Country

_**Chapter Two**_

**The Undiscovered Country**

_Strange shapes moved on the periphery of her vision. Ghosts who…who she knew, but couldn't see; couldn't remember. If she could reach…but it was useless here as well. They were dead in dreams, as well as life. Who were they? They were as familiar as the back of her own hand, but she'd never met them, never seen then; couldn't remember…_

_Darkness. Warm. Endless. Sparkling. Safe. MINE._

_Fire._

_She would've screamed if she had a mouth to scream with, but it was all confused. Her own life was jumbled up in there somewhere, but she couldn't remember that, either. She was drowning and somewhere was the room with the lamp and Him and the bottle; luckily she was too far away for it to touch her._

_Strange how that comforted her to near calmness as the darkness pulled her further and further down._

_She was in a starscape, darkness before her; a burning, _burning _light behind. If only she could turn…she would combust into ash, but for a single, brilliant moment of that light it would be worth all…_

_Voices like smoke on the wind._

_Like tears in the rain._

_Why was she so lost? What was it that'd made the shape now empty in her mind? She'd lost something…important…something she couldn't remember; and wasn't that a crying shame? She tried – a magnet to the pole and the North Star –_

"_I walked in on her in the bath. In Rivendell. I didn't mean to."_

…_WHAT?_

"_You…" (at least that's what she meant to say). BASTARD her mind screamed unnecessarily, but it was whipped away, along with colour, depth and shape. She swung anyway. Something happened. But it was easier to be furious than terrified (even if why was lost completely and in actual fact she was just miserable that she couldn't hold on to reality a moment more)._

_Wind shrieked. _

_Rattled. _

_Like reeds in a swamp. Her body was a swamp. _

_Or…in a swamp…one or the other. Buried in peat. Like a bog body. Like Excalibur…_

_Fanciful, aren't you._

Who the hell are you?

_Oh, no one in particular._

Bullshi'.

_Ah._

…am I dead?

…_no. For the moment, I would say not. But it is a close call._

You're watchin'? Hang on – this feels like lucid dreamin' or somethin'…how's tha' possible?

_Oh, many things _are_ in the wide expanses of the universes._

You've seen stuff like this?

_Well…seen…is the wrong word, I think._

You a wizard?

_Hah, no. Just an…interested party._

Which one?

_You will know in time, I think. Or you might still die; that is uncertain._

Grea'.

_Her conscious slipped once more into deep water and then beneath the benthic surface, silt and chalk packing in around her. Yet there wasn't the darkness anymore. Everything was off-white. The pain was stuck in sediment some way away, but it couldn't reach her here._

_Need…she needed…she couldn't stay here…things to be done…_

"Aye. That there are."

* * *

"Uuugh…"

Zombie impressions aside, she…wasn't dead.

_Or trying to swim in clay._

Someone had her wrapped in a blanket, arms around her limp body, and she twisted sluggishly to try and see.

"Kili…"

_No..the hair was thicker and darker and heavy with beads. _She raised a hand, mesmerised, and felt her fingers bump into skin.

"Are you going to punch me again?"

She frowned. But beneath her fingertips, she felt him smile. For a time, this was enough, and she explored like a curious infant, the skin and stubble alternately rough and smooth.

Then she remembered.

Her eyes snapped up. But they stung as the light hit them, sweeping away anger and indignance with the effectiveness of a broom. She shut them again with a gritted groan. Instantly, the hand supporting her head reacted, adjusting carefully as she tried to curl in on herself. She couldn't perceive anything beyond Thorin cradling her skull (perhaps that was enough to be going on with for the moment). She felt so _weak._

The worst hangover of her life combined with a virulent case of the flu. To top it off, her stomach still felt like the Baltic after an oil spill and she couldn't feel her right arm at all.

Trying to move her fingers felt sluggish; unresponsive. _This _more than anything ratcheted her up to consciousness and she spent the next while stubbornly trying to flex them – make them _obey_. Finally, a bolt of fire shot through the wound and it took every ounce of energy not to scream.

"_Fuck._"

"Well stop moving it then!"

"You try havin' a han' tha's stopped workin'!"

She wanted to follow through with a shove, but sleep took over before she could muster to do it. In her torpid state, she could've sworn she felt the same worn, scarred hands nuzzling her ears; checking her brow. Those hands that'd wielded Orcrist with such ferocity tangled in her hair gentle as a gardener's.

_Voices susurrated above her._

When she woke again, it was to a gleaming grin.

"Ey. S'pose you're 'ungry now?"

She lay there, blinking.

"Starvin'."

Kili reached for a small pail and, before she could protest, started feeding her broth with a very roughly carved wooden spoon. She spluttered indignantly. But on tasting the rich, meaty brew (was that venison?) her stomach leapt to life, threatening open revolt if she didn't have more. Now.

"Ey, steady on!"

She tried to grab the pail out of his hands. But, again, her right arm was stiff and sluggish. And it only pivoted a few inches before pain shot right through it.

"Aagh!"

"That's more than you managed yesterday." He said generously, wincing as he moved the bowl out of harm's way. Senga growled. She screwed her face into a ball and, after several more spasms, she managed to sit upright. The effort was enough to make her woozy again, though – even in spite of being kicked awake by the after-burn – but she knew that was at least partly attributed to the lack of food anyway. Grimly, she resumed the fight.

"Oi –"

"I'm fine! Gimme the fuckin' spoon!"

"Give over – you'll just 'urt yourself!"

"_Kili!_"

"No. I'm putting me foot down."

He looked almost comically serious. Sod. In the end, she surrendered to his ministrations (if only because it was too exhausting otherwise).

She definitely felt better for the food.

It was only then – with her head free of the fog and the fug – that she allowed herself to think of other things. Of fire and darkness. And, inevitably, of a certain peeping prick. It really was frustrating beyond belief! She wanted to punch Thorin – that she already had was immaterial; he deserved it. Yet it _was _difficult to hold onto that anger properly when everything was out of order. More to the point, it tired her out more than the pain, forcing her to relent (which made her even more frustrated).

Vicious cycle, really.

The only bright side was that, genuinely contrite, Thorin seemed to be spending far too much energy concentrating on her recovery to go and pull any more stupid stunts. He honestly _was_ worse than the Brothers Idiot combined when she thought about it. He was just better at hiding it.

To her surprise, the thought made her smile.

* * *

Their fourth evening on the Carrock, and she was unsurprised that the others were growing restless. They were on a timetable, after all, and summer had already slipped into autumn with a bite.

Groaning (and with her subordinate hand) she wobbled to her feet. The blood pressed weakly behind her eyes, and she swayed light-headedly. But she didn't pass out, so she settled next to Balin to share the new deer carcass.

"Aren' we goin' to ge' nutrien' deficiencies soon?"

"Wha' was tha'?" Balin looked bemused, but almost everyone else just looked non-plussed.

"I mean it isn' healthy to have no vegetables at all."

"Ach, a body can go a long ways on meat." Dwalin growled confidently. "You don' need greens to go into battle."

"Aye, bu' eventually your skin rots and your hair falls ou'."

Dwalin raised an eyebrow.

"Jus' pointin' it ou'!"

"Bi' better today then, lassie?"

She smiled sheepishly at the beaming grin from Balin.

"Aye. Lo' clearer than I was."

"No' quite ready to go, though." He said shrewdly. "We were discussin' it earlier: another day or two ough' to do it."

"_Two days_," she groaned softly. "Bu' I _am _feelin' better. I coul' probably make it tomorrow if you don' min' the colourful language."

Balin chuckled, but shook his head, reaching to pat her knee.

"Aye. I've no doub' o' tha' lassie!" He looked half impressed, half as if he was tempted to have her sectioned. "Bu', I'm afraid we wouldn' stand for it."

"We've lost so much _time_, though."

"Aye, an' we can lose a bi' more if it means no' losin' you."

"Look –"

"We wouldn't leave you behind, lass" Bofur asserted quietly a little ways away. Senga stared. She didn't know whether to laugh or try to argue some sense into them. Ori, across from her, nodded vigorously.

"Don't worry – Thorin wouldn't leave you if he had to stay here forever!"

The groans chained.

"Oh, stop being so soppy." Nori sniped irritably.

"It's true!"

"We _kno' _it's true, lad." Gloin rolled his eyes where he was tending to the fire.

"Wha' is?"

The fireside fell silent. Nori shot her an incredulous look.

"Come _off_ it. Honestly, he might as well have hung a bleeding sign!"

"And who is that, Nori?" Nori gulped and everyone scrambled to be doing something else, purposefully _not _looking. But, she wasn't going to stand for that. Without missing a beat, she looked him full in the face.

"You. They thin' you're bein' obvious."

Thorin opened his mouth, a crease appearing in his brow. But nothing came out. His face instead flushed crimson and a moment later he was glaring hard at Nori.

"Well perhaps that's an opinion better kept to _themselves_. Rather than indulging idle gossip."

Nori cowed, going red himself. The others were tactful enough to keep their mouths shut, but – changed or not – that had never been Senga's strong suit and probably never would be. Hence why now was the moment she chose to put her foot in it and _then _set it on fire.

"Don' go off at them jus' 'cos you're tryin' to be all mysterious!" She snapped. It was a bit like poking a lion for being impolite. A bewearied annoyance returned after only a moment, settling familiar as a hair of the moustache.

"I did not know it was your task to monitor my intent."

"How can I?" She stood suddenly, the blood rushing skywards. "You're a communication failure on two legs!"

With a roar of frustration (and if she was being honest, echoing, thumping pain,) she stormed away.

* * *

_How was it possible to be host to roiling anger and panic as well as – god help him – the flush of another fire entirely? It was just something she _did _to him when she was angry. And he couldn't just go after her, press her to the precipice and snog the living daylights out of her, could he? No. No, it wasn't right, and he was perfectly capable of controlling himself despite knowing his own heart. He had a duty to himself and to her, and this was a love that could be itself something private. A wistful fantasy; a guilty secret (but not one he could ever bring himself to regret, in the end. No he would love her and that she deserved such love, just not from him, was enough.)_

_So why couldn't Nori just keep his thrice damned big mouth shut for once in his existence?_

* * *

"Senga?"

"He's bloody impossible!"

Kili blinked.

"What's 'e done now?"

Senga let loose a groan in lieu of answering, passing the archer on the path up to the spring. The food helped – as did adrenaline – but this, annoyingly, didn't stop her vision losing depth every ten seconds. Even that short walk sapped what little energy she had and she collapsed on her arse with the second half of the steps still curling out of sight above her.

"Must she be so _infuriating?_"

She looked down.

"Is it beyond her capacity to cease picking a fight where there is none?"

"Po' kettle black." She shot irritably. "You were ou' o' line."

"You alright, Senga?" Kili was already bounding up after her and this was unacceptable. She was _not _an invalid and, as such, could get up – like _so _– and grimace at the mothering bugger as he reached her.

"_Mahal, _Kili if you were half as concerned about your own health –"

"Then I wouldn't 'ave time to worry about hers, would I?"

Thorin groaned and Senga gave a substantial poke.

"Oi! _Ow!_"

"You kno', one o' these days you'll be the death o' me."

"Don't say that."

The words were softer than they ought, and Senga turned back to a hand on her arm.

"Stop worryin' abou' me, then!"

Kili winced. But he let her go. She felt guilty for brushing him off, but right then she just couldn't have stood feeling weaker. She didn't _need _people taking care of her, and Thorin was right on the mark saying Kili should take more time to think of his own survival. It wasn't _right. _She'd get him killed and that was one of the things (one of the growing number) she'd _kill _to prevent.

_Healthy way of expressing affection._

_Sod off!_

She sighed. The steps were cracked; lined with blasted lichens of varying shades of dusty teal and orange, but as she got higher up, the colours became more distinct. There was moss here too. At last, she turned a corner at the very apex and into the lee of the rock. Here was a spring, rising out of the stone and flowing into a pair of terraced pools. The first was quite small, only the size of a dinner plate, but fed with not unimpressive pressure into the second which was at least the size of a jacuzzi. All around the lip was a carpet of greenery extending outwards over the stone. On the vertical surface were creepers and wall climbers – ivy, honeysuckle; the sort of things that grew small flowers in the spring, but which were now full of the last flush of summer growth, vivid green and waxy.

She stared for a long time.

It was…too picturesque, too _tame_ to be a natural feature. There weren't places this perfect; as if they were made for humans. Were there? Life was life. It didn't have to be pretty or comfortable – _shouldn't there have been slime moulds? Rotting stuff?_

It didn't _feel _particularly magical, though. Just…maybe she'd spent too much time in urban sprawls. Even on her great uncle's lands. Not enough time in places where people couldn't normally touch.

It was cold.

But she couldn't resist kicking off her boots and settling her feet onto the soft, springy surface. Not that her feet weren't manky as hell, so she – tentatively – proceeded with what she was there for.

_Which _was _fucking freezing. _No wonder the water was so pristine clear – the bacteria would have to be mental to like in that! But it was _satisfying. _The concept of cleansing had always been neither here nor there for Senga (probably because she never managed it after…well, After). Yet now, the surreal sensation of more or less burning off the worst grime such that her feet stung soothed her by degrees. The sun had long since set, the stars opening out bright as forge sparks. The clarity of it...almost as if the world was reshaping itself (an odd thought). It was _good_,though. Eventually, numbness bled into weary limbs and forced her down before the ability to move was lost altogether. At the bottom, her body slipped into her make-shift bed, and she slept.

* * *

_The wind blasted the dust, whipping it into a storm of glass. It was difficult to see where she was. Everything was grey: grey ground, grey dust, grey sky. Even the hills in the backdrop were grey. For once she had no idea where she was – no annoying familiar vibe, no random ability to know the scene before it started; nothing._

_Bold and curious, she stepped forward. The dust was harsh, but it was open ground, studded and strewn with jagged rock. This was relieving in a way. Not the oppressiveness of obstacles she could only half-see. And yet, the longer she walked, the more apparent it became how _empty _this land was. There weren't even any landmarks. The sky might have been rolling a treadmill for all the difference it made. It was a waste. A desert: lifeless and so _very_ dry. _

_Almost as if it was ash, not just dust. _

_Remnants of a blaze, long dead, but hot enough to boil away anything that might have once been there. _

_No wonder she didn't recognise it. There was nothing left to recognise. _

_Not even a memory._

_It wasn't always like this._

Yeah, bu' tha' doesn' explain why I'm here no'. Is this goin' to be a regular thing, by the way?

_The closer you get, the clearer it'll become._

Tha's no' an answer; tha's a generic line from an RPG.

_It is also true. Have you not felt the…tug of late? That _pull_ on your sub-consciousness?_

No.

_You will soon._

And?

_You think I have all the answers?_

Why _are_ you here then?

_She stomped off irritably. Suddenly, she started to see something through the wind. Large and indistinct. As she drew closer, she realised it was a wall, cracked and pitted with the stones driven against it like bullets. The was a door. But…no roof when she opened it. Ash piled around the chair and the lamp, turning everything grey. But not quite enough to cover the dark stain or conceal the glass shards. Curiously, there were footprints, slowly fading: big and harsh. Someone had been in here before her._

_The sight drew up the familiar horror; a child's nightmare, but it was different seeing everything dirty and monochrome. Like returning to a crypt after something's been buried and forgotten for a long time. But she hadn't forgotten. It hadn't even been a week._

_Time's got nothing to do with it._

…why? Why here?

_Because you've stayed _here_ far too long._

…fuck…_you_..._Why?_ WHY?

_No answer. Senga tramped into the footsteps, fine particles rising and catching the draft. More ash was drifting in, along with a smell like burnt metal. Suddenly a noise penetrated the gale – one which she'd quite recently heard in the real world. Laughter. Guttural, and cruel._

_The dull horror flared into fury so smoothly, the memory of it seemed to fly away in the storm. Without a backwards glance, she charged through the arch on the opposite wall and back out onto the plane. The laughter continued – as if it were the wind laughing._

_You have to stop holding on to what you know._

_She kept running, choking, but somehow breathing around the ash._

_Let go of the pain. What you were._

_Her feet hit bare rock, rising jaggedly, and still she ran._

_No one can make that decision for you, but the moment is upon you._

_She climbed, scrambling higher and higher…_

_You must go forward. You can't exactly turn back._

_The rock plateaued beneath her feet, allowing her to fleet into a maw of darkness. Fear spiked anew, the laughter muted in the dark. But instead of falling, it was as if she'd found a path going down, snaking through the gloom. Only…as she slowed…it glittered again. Lightless sparks igniting here, there; glinting._

_Let go of what you _know_._

_The voice left, drifting away. It was warm in the dark. She lay down in the glittering, and curled inward, shutting out all the rest, surrendering gratefully to the silent, dreamless corners of her head._

* * *

"Oh…I thought you'd sleep all day again."

She opened her eyes. Bilbo stood over her.

"Slep' a lo', to be fair."

She smiled, forcing herself to mean it. The hobbit smiled back, and it was so very self-asserted, she almost felt the question suddenly on her tongue need not be asked. Still, she should've before.

"You alrigh', then?"

He blinked.

"Yes. Senga…_you _are the one that nearly died from infection!"

"Yeah, _I kno'._"

He laughed endearingly. It was…normalising in a way. They talked companionably about nothing in particular – until she practically keened for lunch. Movement, particularly movement in her arm, was still a problem, and it was all too obvious that combat was out of the question.

It chafed. Especially when there was nothing she could do about it.

But they could hardly stay here forever on the world's spire. Unbidden, she found her eyes wondering over the horizon, settling on the distant peak.

"Hello, Senga."

"Our Ori." She rolled her tongue around the words, lips twitching up. For some reason, this made Ori blush, but he smiled back nonetheless. He ended up confessing to writing poetry as well as penning a ballad about their journey. It wasn't bad stuff, either. She knew next to nothing about real writing other than that she knew it when she saw it, but what Ori wrote somehow felt like listening to Evelyn humming as she stirred her grandmother's sovies. It was _honest_.

They were joined by Fili, and Bilbo, and then Kili instigated an argument about why the eagles lived in a crèche on top of the tor (at least, that's how it started. It ended with how sentient eagles managed mating and there Bilbo drew the line). Then she made her way back up to the stream, bone-crushing weariness and immolated arm be damned. She could still feel the orc filth sticking to her skin; the rank prickling that came after too long of accumulating gunk.

It went without saying that she smelled. They all did. It was an inevitability and unavoidable. But, now she had an available bath, she was going to fucking well have one before they left.

The trudge upwards should've exhausted her more, and not that it didn't, but a sort of tranquillity descended the higher she went. It must have had something to do with the sound being blocked. All quieted utterly as she turned into the alcove, leaving only the trickle of the spring and the whisper of still air. Here she sat, took a moment to breathe, and stripped off. Well, _peeled_ off would've been more accurate. The smell was horrendous and in a fit of fastidiousness, she washed her torn shirt and grimy trousers. Her socks were a lost cause, but she got the worst of the blood out with a bit of soaking.

As soon as she was done, she all but leapt into the larger pool. It knocked the breath from her and made her wound feel like a comet, but she rode it out easily enough. It was as if she were stripping back the layers of horror. Making herself _whole _again. She sluiced numb hands through her briar-patch of a scalp and used her recently washed underwear as a flannel, reaching hitherto neglected portions of her raw skin. Inevitably, the bandage came off, and she washed that too, careful of the wound. The infection was going down and the ache was less. She was still slightly foggy, but that was manageable. With her mind freed, leaning back against the stone, she let it wander.

_Where did Thorin wander off to?_

_Goddamnit!_

Fucking hell. He _hadn't_ been around all day and it was small hope that he'd forgotten their spat earlier – _bugger and bugger – _but he had no right to be in her head at a time like this!

It was impossible to find peace after that. She got out before her feet cramped up too badly from the cold and swore angrily. The air was still warm enough compared to the water, but it wasn't as if she'd brought a towel. In the end, she endured the vaguely disgusting sensation of pulling on wet clothes and shrugged some life into her limp shirt. It ballooned comically. Sighing, she forewent wet socks and carried her boots, dust accumulating on her wet feet as she descended.

"You know those little fury things that look like mice, but go all underwater in streams and that?"

"Wha', you mean voles?"

"Yeah – you look like one of them!"

Considering she was still injured – and that Fili was _aware _of this – tackling him to the floor wasn't quite the spectacle it ought to have been.

"Oh no. You're making me damp."

"Aye?"

They quickly devolved into rolling around giggling, Kili joining in at the first opportunity. The others played spectator, and it was just getting rather good when an all-to-familiar scowl loomed over them.

Senga sat up. Braced. But rather than pick up the conflict, he seemed only mildly disapproving. Actually, he seemed more than a bit closed-off.

"It would be unwise to strain yourselves further, and I would expect more restraint from grown dwarves."

Senga raised an eyebrow automatically, but a hard, stone-walled look put paid to her retort. Still, it wasn't an unkind look. In fact, he was almost smiling (almost – it was just at the fore of the walls, but not quite on his face).

"Though, by this I take it you are healing well?"

"Where d'you go?"

Because, honestly, there was only so much of this _restraint _she was going to be able to stand. She felt like a spoilt child, but she couldn't stop.

"To attend my business."

She could've screamed. _Why does it bother you so much; pull yourself together! The world is exactly the same as it's always been! It's not been shifting round, you moron._

But when it came to Thorin, it wasn't just this, was it? It was his hands in her hair and his eyes burning through her head. It was his gentleness and ferocity all rolled into one and, for the first time, she allowed herself to look back on that anger. Fearless. Unstoppable. And clear as the water in the pool. A near madness that narrowed down everything to putting herself between him and the creature that threatened to tear him away from her.

She'd never felt anything like that. Ever. She'd known it then and she knew it now.

It wasn't like what she felt when she thought of Kili or Fili, or Bofur, or Bilbo, or Balin, or any of the others.

So what the hell happened next?

_And why the buggering fuck was that bastard sitting down, unhurried and unbothered after all of that (didn't he at least owe her a bloody sanity guide?)_

She was staring at him.

He ate. Chewed.

_Who'd fucking abducted him when they weren't watching?_

"So, we're off tomorrow?"

"If you are recovered."

"I was recovered _today!_"

The Company's scoffs were ignored as she watched Thorin – _Thorin who was more stubborn than a cat with a string_ – shrug.

"There you are, then."

_There! That smile had to be false. Look at his hands; he's tense. He's deliberately avoiding a fight._

_Why?  
_"You seem dissatisfied?"

"No," her skin was trying to crawl off her body in agitation. "I jus' – _oogh!_"

She launched from the rocks and stalked away. Rounding the corner of the tor, staring blindly out, she tried to calm her thundering heart, digging her hands into her stomach (_what the fuck was wrong with it?_)

_Everything. Everything was wrong. It was like being in freefall._

"There's simply no pleasing some people!"

"Oh, forgive me for wantin' you to speak plainly an' –"

"I have spoken plainly!"

"Then say what's on your mind!"

"Oh, so it _is _your duty to look upon and decide what it is I think! This may astonish you, Senga, but I do not need your opinion, or your approval, and I _certainly _need not answer to you!"

"No? Well grea' for you. An' we're supposed to jus' muddle through wha' the fuck you mean by, are we?"

She kicked a random rock until it clattered over the edge in a shower of grit.

"I saved your _life_, you kno'."

"Oh yes? You believe you are the first and only one to have ever done so?"

"I coul' cross-reference wi' Bilbo, bu' I doub' he go' the same treatment! You've been _weird _ever since!"

"And this…awakes your _ire?_"

He was looking at her as if he couldn't quite believe they were having this conversation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the third thoughts face-palmed. Tried, vainly, to convince the rest of her that, yes, she might have spun a bit far into having an attack of the crazies. But she was on a roll, and not even _knowing _she was being unreasonable was going to stop her. She couldn't explain why, but she _had _to play this out. Thorin huffed in incredulous annoyance.

"Well, I will endeavour, then, to treat you much as I did before. Only, _I seem to recall_, that was not acceptable either! Might I ask what behaviour would be acceptable, _Lady_ Senga?"

"There's no need to be sarcastic – you bein' weird is a legi' reason to ask wha's wrong!"

"You're _concerned for me?_"

Yeah. That made more sense. Didn't it?

"I kno'. I'm crap at it." She said freely, feeling at last as though her brain were back on the same page of the world. "I'm like a gorilla readin' psychology, bu', yeah, I wan' to kno' wha's wrong. Is tha' a problem?"

"You…" his jaw was gaping now, orange light making each hair stand out on his chin. "I'm _fine! _It was not _me _who almost abandoned us early!"

"Oh, is _tha'_ why you're suddenly stuck between Mystery Man and Mr Softie?"

She didn't realise she was going to let loose the words until after they'd flown from her mouth. There had always been lines between them; lines she only barely acknowledged existing and had ever been a bit blurry. But now she'd crossed one with the goddamn 'die is cast' banners, she felt it like a bloom of static. Even she was shocked, but she wasn't giving up yet. Thorin's eyes flashed with sudden, dangerous thunder.

"So now we're back to throwing insults. I _don't_ need to take this from a self-important infant – "

"Then stop bein' all 'lone man suffer alone' drama queen an' _fuckin' talk!_"

His glare might have withered diamond.

"You wish me to elucidate?"

"Aye! 'cos all this? THIS makes _absolutely _no –"

Without warning, his hands were on either side of her face and the world tilted as his lips crashed to hers.

Up was down. Mountains didn't erupt and earthquakes didn't happen, but she was fairly certain all the oxygen had been stolen. It was relatively cold. Wet. And the beard scratched. Skin pressed to hers.

Then his face was a blades-width away. She opened eyes she hadn't realised she'd shut. The light framed them both.

"I make _perfect _sense, thank you very much."

He turned away and disappeared, leaving her alone with the sunset.

* * *

_**A.N: now, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but considering the content, it took me a lot longer to get to the point than I intended and I thought it best to cut it here. Also, I needed to kick the plot back into line, because to be honest, I did risk domesticity in this chapter, and although it is pleasurable to read, it is even more pleasurable to get to the story and keep throwing out tit bits of the mystery :)**_

_**So, this chapter: the title came before the content, really, cos what happened with me typing it up and filling in the holes I'd managed to make (since the writing in my notebook was a bit disjointed) I created a sort of theme of - 'now we plunge on into the unknown'. Which, obviously, suits the title rather well. It's actually a quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet, but I'll always associate it more with Star Trek VI, which was released **__**in 1991 as the last of the old star trek films associated with the original series.**_

_**There are a couple of referenses, like there are in almost everything I write (must be the influence of british comedy, but I do like spinning out metaphores and slipping in evidence that I am a nerd). 'Tears in the rain' I might have used before, and is obviously from Bladerunner. Also, the scene with the ash was actually inspired by the Fade level in Dragon Age: Origins and it just sort of materialised as I was typing this up.**_

_**The guy talking to her...well, you might be able to figure out who he is as this progresses. Trust me, I have this aaaaaaaall figured out. **_

_**So...I love reviews, in case that was not obvious by now. They are (and you'll know this if you're a writer in the same vein) like crack. And all the reviewers so far: you are wonderful and brilliant and fantastic and I genuinely wouldn't have continued this as far as I have without you guys! Thank you! Now...to the Geography assignment due on monday...**_


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